


Where I End And You Begin

by wingbones



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Violence, M/M, Mad King Ryan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingbones/pseuds/wingbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's been four years when he returns to the kingdom. four years of grief, four years of running. four years of sheltering himself in caves and trees, of avoiding the main roads for fear of crossing guards that knew his face. four long, exhausting years, but he was home, though the place had long ceased being a sanctuary for the former king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A King Scorned

**Author's Note:**

> based on the King lets plays, with some GoT elements thrown in because why not? everyone needs a little GoT in their lives.
> 
> this is an idea i had on a whim and it's pretty messy, i thought i'd post it anyway and see if there's any interest in me finishing it. my first fic for the AH fandom.
> 
> title is from Where I End And You Begin by Radiohead.

it's been four years when he returns to the kingdom. four years of grief, four years of running. four years of sheltering himself in caves and trees, of avoiding the main roads for fear of crossing guards that knew his face. four long, exhausting years, but he was home, though the place had long ceased being a sanctuary for the former king. the high stone walls seemed so foreign to him now, draped in orange and white, a bull's head crest branded in black across the checkered field. it was a far cry from his own tasteful mark, a red rose on a black field, surrounded by a crown of thorned stems. he knows these halls have not seen that sigil in as long as he's been away, and for a moment, anger bubbles in his throat, hot and frothy.

this was _his._

and the new king had stolen it from him.

twelve years ago, the trials ended on cheers of joy. the five men stood in front of their king, awaiting the announcement of the victor and the new king of this glorious realm. he can still remember the First King's face, smiling down at him jovially, tugging at one end of his handlebar mustache with a delighted expression. he'd always liked the First King. he was like a father to them, before the trials began and after. he had been the one to start the changes to the monarchy - "i don't want to rule til my hair falls out," he'd said once, "and i'd rather my crown be won by friends in friendly competition than by soldiers in battle." 

and so it was. the King's Trials were formed only a year previous, an arrangement of challenges planned by the current king in order to challenge his competitors. the first to complete four trials successfully would be the victor, showered in gold and lavishness, a crown on his brow by the end of the night. it'd been alluring and a source of bonding and entertainment for over a decade before things began to go wrong. and really, no one was surprised when it soured from friendly competition to downright sabotage. no one was surprised when the new king had been the first to snap.

* * *

they called him the Mad King, and if you'd known him before the crown touched his hair for the first time, you would perhaps struggle to understand. he was a tall, broad, fearsome man, but with a gentle face and manner about himself. he'd apologize profusely if a lapse in judgment caused difficulty for one of his friends, to the point where they would laugh at the sheer absurdity of his bleeding heart. the former king can recall warding off his desperate pleas after the man knocked into him accidentally while mining and caused him to drop several diamonds in the lava pit below. "but i truly feel terrible," he'd insisted, eyes so wide and blue, and the king had swallowed, feeling the dry scrape of his parched throat. "would you like a pork chop?" 

Ryan had always been that way. a little unpredictable and destructive, perhaps, and maybe a bit strange, but never intentionally. he'd been a good man, a good knight. 

until the day Geoff laid a crown upon his brow. that was the day that everything changed.

* * *

King Ray had ruled for four bright summer years, and though his time as ruler of the land was coming to an end, he felt no worry. he was the third to reach the throne at the hands of the trials, kneeling at Ryan's feet as he placed the silver, black and red creation on his head. it was a beautiful trinket, the pale steel shaped to form twisted, thorny branches adorned with faceted rubies and obsidian. at a distance, the larger rubies looked like roses glittering at his temples, little obsidian stones like stars catching the light. each of them had their own creation prepared for the day they took the throne, true symbols of their houses and the regimes they would oversee. 

the Rose King. that is what his subjects called him. he was very fair, not prone to starting battles the way Ryan had been. the kingdom enjoyed a rare interval of peace and tranquility, while Ray sat unassuming and unaware of the trap he had walked into by becoming king after his old friend.

when Ryan crowned him, his face had contorted into a strange, twisted expression. like anger, like betrayal, but mostly like regret. it had barely caused a blip on Ray's radar at the time, and he'd forgotten it after a while, but now he knew the truth. 

that day was the first day Ryan had ever lost power in his life. and he was not keen to let it happen again.

* * *

Ray stole his way through the castle, light, silent footsteps through the shadows thrown by torches to keep himself from being detected. for four years he'd ruled from this place, and for eight before that he served its council. from his tender youth he has known this place, and no guard had any hope of catching the Rose when he did not want to be found. he'd always been the stealthiest of the six, specializing in precision rather than force. it was the only reason he'd survived the last day of the trial. the day Ryan took the throne a second time. 

he grit his teeth at the sight of all these banners, hanging heavy on _his_ walls, bearing a traitor's sigil. though his reign had been finished when Ryan took the throne, he still felt as though he had his crown stolen from him. they all had, to be literal. Ryan took them from the corpses after he'd slain them all, throwing them into the lava pit at the back of the throne room that they used to dispose of items that were unneeded by the kingdom. Ryan had installed it himself, and he seemed fond of burning peasants' possessions if they annoyed him when they came asking assistance. it was this sort of behavior, suddenly cruel and bloodthirsty, that Ray became gradually uneasy with. he served as Ryan's hand during his first reign as king, and they'd grown close as a king and advisor should always be. but underneath, there was always a hint of doubt in Ray's heart. a worry about the change in the once gentle-spirited man he stood beside, who would never have thrown a young man's winter cloak in the lava just to watch the boy's face crumble in grief as the fabric went up in flames. the last possession he had that belonged to his father, apparently - the man he'd come to ask Ryan to allow him to bury. Ryan never took kindly to people being soft towards those he considered treacherous.

 _if only i'd had the same mindset,_ Ray thinks, wryly, as he sneaks down the long corridor to the throne room. if he remembers the man at all, he knows that Ryan rarely leaves his throne, only vacating the seat for bodily necessities and battle. he ruled from his throne, a true gilded king. and if Ray had any sense while he was king, he would have never trusted the man at all.

but they'd been friends since Ray was tender and young, brought by the First King Geoff from his peasant home after the man came across him hunting in the woods. Ryan had been on the horse beside him, reins wrapped around one hand, expression thoughtful as they approached this small, olive-toned boy, a tattered bow clutched in his hands. 

"that was a good shot," Ryan had said, looking to the deer Ray had felled with an arrow through the eye. "what is your name?" 

Ray told him, and Geoff invited him to come to the castle and train as a knight under Ryan's capable hands. and from that point on, they'd been friends. maybe something more. Ray had called it the "R&R connection" once, over a meal of venison and sweetbread, and the older man had laughed. they'd been inseparable, Ray's precise skills and Ryan's sharp mind working in tandem. they were a fearsome match, borderline poetry. 

"do you ever think that the trials aren't really the best way to choose the king?" Ryan asked him one night, setting his crown in its designated box. it was a bright gold concoction, with tall, sharp spires inlaid with rubies. the tips looked so sharp that Ray was certain if he'd touched it with his fingertip he'd be pricked. 

"i can't say i have," Ray admitted, setting aside his book so he could focus on his king. the man looked _tired_ , shoulders slumped a little and eyes worn. when he looked at Ray, that glittering gaze that had caught his attention in the first place, like well-cut sapphires, was flat and emotionless.

"perhaps you're right," he'd sighed. "it's a hard adjustment. i've always been more of a...traditionalist." 

at the time, Ray chalked the conversation up to lingering nerves about his right to rule. he was only the second king, the debut of Geoff's plans for the new monarchy. it was natural for Ryan to feel as though he may have been the wrong choice. now, Ray knows better.

he'd been entirely too trusting, but no more. Ryan had wronged him, wronged all of them. and Ray is going to set it right.

when he steps into the throne room, he is not surprised to see Ryan in his usual seat, lounging back like a jungle cat and looking just as satisfied. and why shouldn't he? he'd killed four men and chased off a fifth, ruling his new kingdom for years without major incident. in Ryan's mind, he's probably already won. and yet, when Ray makes himself known from the shadows, stepping out into the light of the torches flickering hauntingly on the walls, there is no surprise in the face of the Mad King. either the man has impeccable control over his emotions, or he'd been expecting him all along.

"Ryan Haywood, first of your name," Ray growls, reaching to his side as a blind rage crashed over him like a wave. his rapier is impeccably sharpened and polished, firelight glinting off the blade and the rubies and obsidian laid into the intricate silver handle. Ryan stands, reaching for his own greatsword, though he doesn't move to unsheathe it. "you killed our friends and betrayed your kingdom. it's time you stopped getting away with it."

Ryan's eyes glimmer, and it feels like a punch to the throat - it's that same playful look Ray's always known, the one he hadn't seen since before Ryan wore his first crown. and that's not fair, because in his head they are separate entities altogether, the Mad King and his Ryan. it makes him shudder to be reminded that they are one in the same, occupying the same traitor's body. miraculously, he keeps his face still.

"if there's anyone in this land who i would prefer steal my crown, it would be you, young rose." Ryan unsheathes his sword, and it looks like flame itself under the light, tempered rich orange and blue at the edges so that the torchlight dances along the blade. for a moment, it seems a mirage, an illusion. surely this sword is not magically infused? 

and then Ray sees that Ryan's crown is different from the first time. among the rubies, there's a lining of red around the edges of the crown. and it faintly glows with its own power. and Ray shudders, stepping back despite himself. 

_redstone_.

the strange, electrified ore often used to wire circuitry, that had to be handled with gloves and great caution lest its strange properties leech into the skin and cause madness. the crown is throbbing with it, casting an eerie red light over Ryan's face, those clever eyes. and suddenly Ray understands. it makes all the sense in the world why, when Ryan threw him down the stairs to the throne and watched him cough and shudder and gasp at the base, his eyes had flashed an eerie red.

the Mad King is far madder than Ray had ever realized. perhaps he won't come out of this alive.

Ryan raises his sword and begins his descent down the steps. and so it begins.


	2. A King's Victory

Ryan always knew, somewhere inside him, that Ray would return to him. the Mad King had a good sense about these things; he trusted his gut above all else, and it'd yet to lead him astray when he heeded its call. so when the shadows at the front of the throneroom stir and materialize into a familiar black and red clad figure, Ryan shows no sign of surprise. it is lovely to see that young face once more, though it is twisted into an expression of glowing hatred. nothing makes Ray's face look prettier than intense emotion, in Ryan's opinion, and what emotion is more intense than rage? 

he can think of one. he can remember the last time he saw it on Ray's face, and the thought stirs something deep inside him, a part of him that has laid dormant and silent for four long years. he pushes it away, tries not to let it show how uncomfortable the thought makes him. there is no room in the Mad King for weakness. 

he comes down the stairs at a leisurely pace, sword feeling light as a feather in his hands. it's quite the behemoth, made of heavy steel, but the redstone tends to mute his senses against things like that. he can lift large objects without feeling their weight, fight for hours and never tire, endure any wound with barely a flinch. the unstable ore gives him a sense of near invincibility that became quickly addictive. he cannot go an hour without a bit of it pressed against his skin, filling him with its corruption. all over his clothes have secret compartments sewn in to stash the ore as close to his body as he can manage it, but the greatest source of his fix is his crown, perched and glowing atop his head. 

finding a smith that could work redstone into gold was a lengthy struggle, but well worth the effort. against his scalp it seems to have the strongest effect, clouding his brain with an exaggerated sense of power and success.  it could be said that the man who wore the red crown and the man who served King Geoff as a knight of the kingsguard may as well be strangers to each other. the ore twisted him up and spat him out, even the core of his personality changed by its poison. these were words whispered on the wind by fearful strangers, no one brave enough to openly contradict the king. Ryan paid them no mind. 

when he reaches the bottom of the steps Ray is ready for him, rapier at the ready, prepared to strike. Ryan shakes his head a bit, quelling the younger man's urge for a moment. "are you just going to chop my head off, Ray, or are you going to let me speak first?"

"nothing you can say will change this," Ray says, cold. his voice, however, sounds a little shaky. Ryan takes some pleasure in that. 

"I never said it would." 

Ray shifts on his feet, quiet. after a moment he lowers his sword. "fine. speak, and make it quick." 

Ryan steps forward, right into Ray's personal space. he finds himself impressed by the way Ray avoids flinching, though a flicker of discomfort crosses his face before he can stop it. 

"I've missed you dearly, my rose." it's not what he was planning to say initially, but it comes forth from him unbidden regardless. it's the truth. Ray recoils, pressing back into the wall and realizing he's been cornered. this was a terrible idea on his part, and Ryan can see it in his face when he realizes it. 

"fuck you." 

"now?" 

a shudder tears through Ray's body, and the look on his face is crumpled, distressed. it's an old joke between the two of them, a part of their playful banter. the memories hurt, and his fingers tighten on the hilt of his rapier, just trying to breathe. 

"stop, Ryan." it comes out broken, and Ryan revels in the realization that he still has as much power over him after all these years. he rests a hand on the wall by Ray's head, smirking; Ray's eyes look ruddy in the light from his crown, they're so close. the red wash looks lovely on him. 

"why did you run from me, Ray? I let you live for a reason. you could have stayed. we could have ruled these lands together, just the two of us, until our last breaths..." Ryan leans in a little more, their lips almost touching. his breath fans out over Ray's face. "we still could. I can find it in myself to forgive you for leaving, Ray."

"forgive _me_?" Ray tries to shove him away, disgusted. "you poisoned Geoff. you shot Gavin. you threw Jack to the wolves." he swallows, Adams apple bobbing. "you decapitated Michael." 

it all hurts, but Michael's death was the only one Ray was forced to witness. he'd been placing the crown on the lad's head, declaring him victor of the Trials and the next king, when Ryan swept up behind him like a phantom. there was no one to witness the horror besides Ray, the absence of his friends a sharp one. there had been a swipe of an axe, singing through the air, and a horrible spray of blood over Ray's face and hands and chest. the crown hadn't even touched the young man's head, which was now at the king's feet, oozing blood so dark it was nearly black. he'd been too stunned to step away when it licked his boots.

Ryan sighs, and for a moment there's honest regret in his eyes. eyes that are red as open wounds, no longer the pretty, clear blue Ray loved so much. "terrible timing on my part...i should never have allowed you to see it." and he'd done so well with keeping the others' deaths away from his sweet Rose King...but seeing Ray place the crown on that _boy's_ head, knowing it should rightfully be his - theirs - had filled him with such a rage that he lost himself. his body was new to the corruption of redstone then, raw like an exposed nerve and constantly on the edge. 

Ray hisses out a breath, free hand clenching into a fist. "you don't...you just don't understand how ridiculous you sound. you'll apologize for letting me see it but not for killing one of your friends?" 

"i had no friends," Ryan responds, coldly. he sees Ray flinch from the harshness of his words. "i had people i could tolerate, perhaps even respect. but they became liabilities." 

Ray closes his eyes. "you don't remember, do you?" it sounds so defeated, and for a moment Ryan is angry. how could Ray take that tone with him? he sounds like a disappointed parent more than any other, too tired to fight his words, but displeased by them nonetheless. "you don't remember what it was like before you destroyed yourself with that ore." 

the king tries not to shift uncomfortably at that. it's not an inaccurate observation, if he's honest with himself - he truly doesn't remember most of those things. some part of him knows that those four were his friends, but he cannot remember their smiles, their mannerisms. in his brain they are just names and dead bodies at his feet, people that caused bumps in the road to his undisputed leadership. he couldn't let them live. 

there's a stretch of silence between them in which Ryan stamps down on conflicting emotions rising up inside of him. it brings up memories he'd long since forgotten, and he can't stand it, truly. the redstone is always so good at silencing these crests of distress, quelling his anxieties. he curls his fingers into the hem of his sleeve, finds the little pocket of sandy, glittery powder and dips his fingertips into it. the sudden skin contact gives him a rush, and his eyes redden further, face gaining a lazy, sharp smile. 

"Ray, the only one worthy to stand beside me is you. it has always been you. and i know that you feel the same." Ray shakes his head, but it's feeble, and his eyes are glossy with unshed tears. it almost pains Ryan to see him so conflicted, but it's the barest twinge, not enough to silence him. "you can stay here and rule with me, and have everything you deserve...or i can gut you on this very floor, as much as i'd hate to do so. that is your choice." 

another stretch of silence, in which Ray's face slowly calms, the emotions that were trapped there before finally released. his thoughts are a turmoil, hazy and afraid. Ryan was his everything: his mentor, his friend, his hand, his king, his _lover_. it was always them against the world, a bond tighter than blood. but Ryan is destroying himself, and is he even truly the Ryan that Ray had loved so long ago? _that_ Ryan would never threaten to cut open his belly, for certain. he could kill, often ruthlessly so, but to those he cared for he was the gentlest creature, kinder than a lamb. the glow of Ryan's eyes distresses him deeply.

but if it's only the redstone making him so savage...if he were close to Ryan's side again, he could wean him from this deadly poison. he could clear the fog in the Mad King's mind, and Ryan would be his again. he knows that his only alternative is to kill or be killed, and though he'd come here with the prospect of revenge, now that he stands in the circle of Ryan's arms, he knows he could not. he would never be able to kill Ryan.

and perhaps it's the proximity to that horrid ore that's making his mind blurry with thoughts of the past, but Ray eventually comes to his final decision, daring to look up into Ryan's smug, crimson gaze. 

"i'll stay." 

the smile he gets in return is so dazzlingly bright that it hurts deep beneath his ribs. it's the smile he remembers, full of that love that Ryan overflowed with so long ago. Ryan leans in and presses his mouth to Ray's, finally closing the distance between them, and Ray can't hold back the tears that threaten to leave him. 

_i'll fix this,_ he thinks, messily, arms around Ryan's neck. the closer he gets to the man the fuzzier he feels, like there's a heat working into his body, feverish and strong. it's comforting and intense and he wants _more._

_i'll fix you, Ryan. i'll find a way._


End file.
